Breath of fresh air
by Eggsbenedictus
Summary: Peter finds himself heavy, hollowed out and unable to function since Gwen's death. His days blend together as he visits her grave. One day he finds a slightly unusual girl there, who stirs something within him, and even forces out a tiny smile. (Set after The amazing spider-man 2.) Please follow/fav/review.
1. First impressions

There was always a sort of stillness in the air when he'd go to see her. He stepped onto the bus, bought himself a ticket, greeted the driver with a simple nod and sat in the back. He'd spend the short trip looking down at his feet, or absently gazing into the nearly completely empty bus. The bus driver would signal him when he got to his stop, and he'd exit as numbly as he had gotten on. His back would stab, emptily without his backpack and suit. These moments, these visits, he would make as himself, not as his crime fighting, murdering, alter ego. His steps were heavy, walking up to her grave, like his sneakers were made from lead. He had visited her every day since the funeral. It had become a part of his routine, he'd wake, if he had slept at all, dress himself in the clothes he had worn the day before, and zombiewalk his way to the bus stop and wait.

The cemetery was usually empty, with the exception of one or two, in the distance, bearing flowers. He'd seen the grave-keeper now and again, picking up garbage or tending to the stones, but never had he seen anyone near her grave. This time however, it was different. As he trailed the path to her stone, he saw a young woman seated in front of her, her legs draped casually, her brown hair springing in many directions, she was smiling, giggling even. Peter couldn't place it, but it was irritating to him, and his brow twitched as he approached her. Mid-laugh she whipped her head about, and looked at him, biting her smile into a strait face. "Hi."

"Hello." Peter muttered. And a silence followed him. He stared at her, looking for something, twitching his head slightly to the side, and squinting his eyes now and again. "Do-do I know you? I don't recall seeing you at the funeral." He said, trying to place the girl. "Oh, no no, I didn't know her." She called, placing her hand on the headstone. "I was just asking her a question." She explained, offering a wee smile. Peter answered her with a strange look, tilting his head to signal that that made little sense. The girl picked up the bag lying next to her, slipped its strap over her head and came to a stand, her jeans graced with wet patches and grass stains. She pocketed her hands, and drew up her shoulders, offering another smile. She nudged her head to the right.

"My mom see, buried next to her. I was asking to keep her outa trouble, you know?" She offered, blushing slightly knowing how silly that sounded. Peter's face softened at that, the edge in his chest dulled "I'm sorry, if you didn't want me here." She shrugged as she moved to her mothers headstone, and sat back down. "No, no it's fine.." Peter offered as he stepped closer to Gwen. "You're just the first person I've... people don't come here often I mean." Peter stuttered. The girl shifted and spun on the ground, forcing more grass stains into her jeans no doubt. She was lying down, the top of her scalp just touching the headstone. She crossed her legs and cushioned her head with her hands. "Yeah."

"What was she like?" The girl asked, as she closed her eyes. Peter watched her, wondering if it was even allowed to lie on top of the graves, and if she even cared if it was. As her question hit him, his chest grew warm and tight. Tiny tears stinging behind his eyes, a twinge in his nose. He forced the lump out of his throat, rasping as his breathing changed on its own. "uhmmm..." he started, looking around as if to find the answer lingering there. "She..-" his voice broke after the first word, and failed him. He snorted, trying to keep himself from leaking, and crying right there. "Really?" She said, understanding him perfectly. Peter scratched non-existent itches and breathed "Yeah."

"What's your name?" She asked, peeking through one of her lids. He cleared his throat again, clogged up after a few stray words. "Peter." he answered, short and sharp. "Come lie down with me, Peter." she said, gesturing with a blind smile. "She won't mind." Peter didn't know why he did, but as soon as she had said it, he lowered himself onto the grass. It was damp and cold, but comfortable. He copied the girl's position, positioning himself on top of Gwen's grave. He had imagined that he'd feel guilty, that as soon as he touched upon the grass, that it would feel wrong and bad, but there was nothing. It felt like everything else, it felt...normal. The wet grass seeped through his trousers, chilling his thigh, but he couldn't bring himself to mind it. He closed his eyes, and he felt as if he could fall asleep right there,  
whether this was because his body had been denied a decent night's sleep for so long, or that being here, this way, felt so right, he felt his lids becoming heavy. The girl didn't break the feeling when she said his name. He answered her with a hummed sound. "Are you okay?" She said, her voice was kind and genuinely concerned. "No."He breathed, as his eyes began to sting again. "Okay." She whispered. Then before Peter had even realised it, his head fell back and he slipped into a light sleep. It was chilly outside, but the as the sun gently warmed his face, he slept.

He awoke, about half an hour later. The girl he had been talking to seemed to have already left. He shifted and sat up, looking for her.  
As he sat up, something fell into his lap. A chocolate bar, with a silver blue wrapper. Had the girl left it for him? He turned it around, finding a small note attached there. "Eat it, it helps." He felt a smile pull at the corner of his lips. Was she quoting professor Lupin? His legs were cold and wet and slightly icky, so was his back, but as he waved Gwen goodbye, he felt lighter...somehow.


	2. The horror of a sound

**Dear Daenerys86, seeing as you were the first comment on my story. I'd like to name a character after you, if thats alright, please drop me a line :)**

**Hope you enjoy chapter 2. **

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It had been several days since Peter had last visited Gwen's grave. He found himself stuck in his room, creeping through his drawers, looking at her photographs. Trailing his finger over her hair and cheek, forcing his lips tightly together to prevent him from crying. His chest tightened and his fingers twitched to rip the pictures in half, hoping that would offer him some kind of relief, but he couldn't bring himself to see her beautiful face broken. He tightly shut his eyes as a tear bubbled in the corner, only to see her face, hair falling before her, arms stretched, falling-thud.

His eyes pried open as every inch of his body had gone cold. He had been hearing it everywhere, that thud. It was hiding in the back of his head, and wherever he went or how desperately he tried to banish it, it would be there-thud.

He threw his hands against his head, pressing down on either side of it, hoping to silence it. If his head were to pop like a grape, it would stop, it would most definitely stop. He was sure of it. His face flushed in reds and pinks, breaths escaping him in mewling gasps as he tasted salt. Gwen would know exactly how to stop it, she would know exactly what to say to him, knew exactly how to straiten his mind, without her he was lost. So very lost. "Peter?"

His eyes snapped open, to find his aunt in his door opening. "Are you alright?" She asked, so sweet and warm like only she could. "You've been up here so long... won't you come down?" she added, steadying herself against the frame. Peter let out a breathed huff, releasing his head from the deadlock it was in, leaving red marks on either side of his head as the blood drained from his face again. His hands warmed, to an almost boil. He wanted to throw something at her, shut the door with a mighty bang that would level the entire house, he wanted to scream as loud as he could so that the world would go deaf. He blinked as the red marks ebbed away. "I'm... going out." he said, jumping to his feet, chugged his pack over his shoulder and quickly manoeuvring round his aunt. "don't wait up okay."

thud – thud – thud – thud.

With every step he took, he could hear it, the sound of her smacking against the floor, his web a moment too late, he was a moment too late. Her face. Her face, looking up at him, expecting him to catch her. She knew that he would catch her, he would, he was going to catch her. Thud. Those hopeful eyes screaming his name. He quickened his pace, running as fast. Why was he too late? When people fell he caught them, he secured them with his web. He caught them, he always did. Why didn't he catch her? Thud. She trusted him to catch her. That's why she was there, she knew that if she fell he'd catch her. He'd protect her. He always did. Thud. Why had he not listened? Why had he broken his promise? He tried to break it off, he did, he did. She wouldn't listen. Thud. She'd broken up with him. Thud. And still she died. Thud. He let her die. Thud!

He jumped against the tallest building and started to climb, his fingers sticking greedily against the bricks. As swift as he could he moved up, not losing his footing once. It had been long since he had moved in such a way without his suit. He could feel it, neatly tucked away into his pack, but he couldn't bring himself to wear it. He groaned angrily only adding to the rage building up inside him, he could feel his face heat up. His mouth was dry and tasted of metal. But as he reached the top, and smartly manoeuvred himself over the edge he looked strait into the eyes of someone familiar.

"Peter?" right in front of him stood the girl from the cemetery. Her eyes wide with wonder, as he noted there wasn't a fire escape on his side of the building, and thus, no way he could have climbed up. He wanted to reply to her, yet caught himself very aware that he did not know her name, he hadn't asked for it. He sat down, simply not knowing how to get out of this situation. She had seen him clearly, and there wasn't a lie he could think of to save him. His anger instantly converted to panic, as he began to sweat. And she was just standing there, feeding some seeds to a pigeon.

"... how was your weekend?" she offered, cooing her pigeon. Weekend? She just bore witness to him climbing a 7 floor building, and she was asking after his weekend? "Smashing" She must be getting at something. "About.. just now... I got into..wallclimbing- rockclimbing I mean, a while ago-" he tried, gesturing as his mouth dried up again, painfully aware that he had no gear on him. "I do...freestyle...rockclimbing." he elaborated. "Cool! You know nothing about rock climbing do you?" She rebutted with a tiny smile. "Well not the sport at least." she added quickly after, shrugging her shoulders.

"Well, that is just very judgemental of you, and I must say I'm disappointed, very disappointed in fact, that you would assume that I know nothing of rock climbing just because I'm new to the sport. You would think that people assist instead of pass judgement of those that are less knowledgeable of certain climbing...sports." Peter tried, witting his way out of it. "and to add to that, if I were to say now, that I in fact was knowledgeable on said sport, I would simply be justifying your judgement, and if I do not you will simply assume that I do, in fact, know nothing. It's quite the predicament we find ourselves in." he stared at her, vaguely hoping that his intense rain of bullshit had jumbled up her brain enough.

"that's better." She said, pitching her bird on the edge, rubbing the few stray crumbs off her hands. "If you're gonna lie, you'd best make it a good one. There's nothing more insulting than a lazy lie." She added. "There was no need though, I wasn't going to ask."

Peter shifted nervously, just a moment ago he was consumed with anger, and now those feelings had subsided. His ears were ringing with the absence of the sound that haunted him. "Why are you here..?" he decided to ask, the silence weighing on him. She stepped closer towards him, a skip in her step. She contorted her face from a frown, to a scowl, and finally a smile. "I live here. This my apartment building." Peter only noticed now that she had freckles on her nose and cheeks, and that her teeth weren't exactly strait. She held out here hand, edging for his. "Here."

He reached for her, his sleeve covered hand preventing any actual physical contact. She'd given him a hand full of seeds. Various kinds as far as he could tell, though he could only identify the sunflower seeds, he had three of those. She guided his hands towards the till nearby. It was a rusted old thing, though spotless, suggesting it was cleaned regularly. She opened a little gate and stuck through her arm, unfolding her hand, demonstrating. The birds immediately had at her, eagerly picking away. She nodded towards him. "go on."

Peter copied her, opened the gate and stuck in his hand. The birds seemed less excited to eat from his palm. They were used to the girl, not him. After a few moments passed, a single pigeon approached him, bouncing towards him, cocking its head in weird positions as if trying to size him up. It was the weirdest feeling, having it pick at his hands. Its beak brushed against his fingers, harsh and smooth, making the hairs on his arms stand upright in weirdness. "The landlord doesn't allow pets inside, but he does let me keep these pigeons up here." She explained.

"They seem pretty hungry." Peter mumbled happily as more birds joined in, forcing a chuckle out of her. "They always are, greedy little buggers." She said while making a most unattractive face, attempting to conveigh something to the pigeon seated on her fingers. First she mimicked a fish, then for some reason she changed her expression into something that could only be described as orcish. Peter wanted to laugh.

A silence fell once more, leaving the two to tend to their birds. Neither one could think of anything of relevance, and so they simply said nothing. The girl, being practised, and no longer paying attention to what she was doing, sneaked a peek at Peter. He was wearing a sweat vest, which he had probably worn for quite a while now, it was ragged and threadbare, much like his jeans. She wondered what part of it would give way first. Was it going to rip at his knees,well more than it already had. Was one of his butt pocket flaps going to fall off? Was his crotch going to rip? The latter option made her chuckle.

Peter looked at ease, though his hair looked as if it had fought a war all on its own, and lost. His bloodshot eyes were carried by deep dark circles. If she were to come across him at night, she'd ball her hands into fists without hesitation. She rubbed her hands together, raining the remaining seeds onto the till-floor. "Peter?" She called, answered only by a hum. "You hungry?"

Peter let out a disturbed sound, quickly pulling his hand out of the till and closing its gate, seeds still sticking to his fingertips. Clumsily he shook his hand, trying to expel them, to only send them into his sleeve instead, causing him to wave his arm even more frantically. "Ahhh ehh, you're really nice, but I can't do that, I'm not- I mean I don't even know your name, you're practically a stranger right, besides I really don't feel...ehh" Peter threw, his face colouring in panic. He continued. Though his reasoning was now incomprehensible blabber.

"Peter, calm down. I was going to make you breakfast. I wasn't going to try and bed you." The girl was grinning widely, as he started to relax again, his mouth slumping down into an eased smile. "I'll leave that for another day" she muttered, mockingly, causing Peter to jerk awkwardly again. He smoothed out the creases in his jeans, patting off the dirt. "I-Idon'tknow" he mumbled. "C'mon, you spazz. I'm hungry."


	3. Dropped toast

**Daenerys86 : I'm so very glad you liked it, and thank you for letting me use your name :)**

**Nashira Kozoroth : Glad to hear it, I hope you'll keep following as I update !**

Please enjoy the next chapter!

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Calling her apartment tiny would be a really hench understatement. It had everything it needed sure, but not much to spare. She had a tiny kitchen/living room, and a bedroom the size of a closet. Surprisingly however, behind her bedroom rested a sizeable bathroom, with an unexpected actual bath. The windows were not as thick they ought to have been, and the radiator seemed to have seen better days. The ceiling was discoloured in the corners, where the paint had partly been stripped of, the floors boards creaked with every step, but despite all that, it was a real home.

Thick rugs, pillows and scented candles littered the rooms, along many trinkets and pictures. All in all the house was stuffed with things that weren't chosen for the space. The were too big, and heavy for a place this small. Next to the door there were even two night stands stacked on top of each other and screwed together. It was creative, the girl had insisted.

She had excused herself into her bedroom, retreating to put something on that wasn't covered in bird poop. "Make yourself at home!" she called through the door. "Not literally, my landlord won't let me sublet."

Peter smiled and fingered a photo frame on a treasure chest that served as a coffee table, trying very hard to not seem as awkward as he felt. The frame was delicate, and the only one to stand apart. The others seemed to have found a place on the opposite wall, and there were many. Peter wondered why she had even bothered painting it, you could hardly see anything of the paint. The picture was of a young woman, very similar to the girl whose living room he was standing in. Her hair longer and her nose slightly more crooked, but otherwise a spitting image. Her smile reminded him of Gwen's. The unknown woman only occurred once, not seen in any of the other pictures that walled the room.

"Her name was Helen." The girl called, now changed into a jumper that was about 4 sizes too big for her. She stepped out next to him, stroking the frame. "Really, who names their kid Helen." she smiled emptily. "That's almost forcing them to become a mom of three, and forcing them into shoulder length brown do, right?" she snickered. "I was the only one she had though. I kinda ruined her during birth." Peter looked at her from the corner of his eye. The smile she usually carried wasn't there any more.

"What was she like?" Peter carefully asked. At that the girl's face contorted again, the corners of her lips almost touching the outline of her chin, she looked like a cartoon character. "ohhh I don't know actually, she gave me up for adoption." she started, and followed with a chuckle. "hehe, I guess I got the only Helen out there that couldn't be a mom." a snort escaped her. Peter couldn't identify whether this was actual ridicule, sarcasm, or that it was an upsetting fact for her. He knew exactly how she felt. But before he could say anything to her she punched his arm. "You're not one of those watch-what-I-eat-fucking-carrots-hells-yes type deals right?"

Peters head dropped, shooting a prize winning smile. "Nope, as a human between 12 and 30 years old, I am in fact obligated to consume as much unhealthy things as I can muster, its the law. Actually this one guy in my class, called Dave, he got 18 months in the slammer for skipping mystery meat day in the cafeteria." Peter tried, settling himself coolly on the back of the couch. "Fantastic, cause you're getting a full English, my friend." She took to the kitchen, smashing several pans onto the stove, with a mighty clang.

"Anything I can do to help?" He offered, noting how his stomach responded to the mere mention of food. She didn't look at him and only called over his shoulder, asking him to make the toast, as she always burned it.

"So, family." Peter's curiosity had peaked, hoping it was a general enough subject not to offend. The girl smiled. "lots of foster families." She answered, fishing in the fridge. "None of them stuck?" Peter tried. "Not really." She muttered, slapping a bar of butter on the counter, though before he could ask another question she pointed to the wall of pictures. "I've got a sister though, or foster sister. The one in the middle" she said, gesturing.

The picture, framed in a an almost offensive shade of green, could only be described as silly. The two girls' faces were mushed together, cheeks pressed, pursing their lips in a most unattractive manner. "Susan." She called. "She sends me apples, I send her tea, we call. She's the closest thing I've got to family."

"Yeah. She lives far away?" Peter asked, eyes still on the picture, and the smile she had there. The girl had simply made a sound, a sort of agreeing hum. He wondered if he should keep asking, he hardly knew her, and she was a difficult one to place. The last thing he wanted to do was offend her. He pocketed his hands, and paced through the room, doing the usual lap anyone would when in a new home. Looking at things, and pretending to look at things, touch things and pretend to not touch others. Though he would not offend her by stating the usual, complimenting her on her home.  
He stumbled upon her book collection, carefully hidden on shelves through out the rooms. There were books in slots underneath the couch, in a crate under a table, in the side table contraption by the door. Everywhere he looked, he could see a book carefully displayed and only to be seen if you were looking for them. Peter wondered that if he was to open the chest in the middle of the room, he would find even more.

The titles varied from common novel titles and classics, to art and science books. Some of which rather advanced. In the crate there was an entire section on genetics. Peter found himself wondering how educated she really was. "What do you do, student or work or?" He called, sneaking one of the books out of its place. "Odd jobs. I've not been here that long yet, I do all the things that need doing in this building, and I get to stay here for free." She called, clearly preoccupied with what she was doing. She wasn't being untruthful, but she wasn't telling him everything, the hairs on the back of his neck twitched. There was just something... there. He would enjoy finding out more.

Soon the bacon was sizzling away, and the kitchen filled with a delicious smell. She wasn't joking when she offered to feed him. Every pan on the stove was filled to the brim with deliciousness. She was cooking, bacon, sausages, eggs, tomatoes. She was baking beans, all a while Peter had sat there hunched over, obsessively staring at the oven's glass door. "Who makes toast in an oven.." he complained. "People who don't own toasters." She rebutted, bumping her hip against his shoulder.

"Who doesn't own a toaster, isn't that the first thing you acquire when moving house?" The girl cringed and pulled a face. "I think I'd rather have a place to rest my head, then the ability to make toast" Peter scoffed, letting out a chuckle. "No dedication, I'm very disappointed, young lady."

She reached down, brushing through his hair, messing it up, raising her brow in disappointment as it didn't give way. "That is a sturdy do you've got there, when's the last time you washed it?" She eyed her hand, wondering if she should rinse it under the tap and if she hadn't been to motherly saying that. Peter shook his head, gesturing wildly. "I shower" she poked his cheek, turning it into a pinch. "good, no dirty boys at my table." She gently nudged Peter to his feet, bumping him with her hip, to the table.

Without Peter had even realised it. He had draped his arms around her, forcing a chuckle out of her. She was very warm, almost like touching the tip of a lit match. He had moved her towards him, having her jerk against his chest, wanting to escape. It was playful and nice.

"Peter, breakfast's going to burn!" she called softly, dragging him back to reality. His hand suddenly turned cold, and he released her. She was smiling, her cheeks turning a rosy pink, and her hair bounced so ridiculously as she stepped back to her stove and turned off the gas. He watched her as she elongated herself, standing on tiptoe to reach for the plates. He felt compelled to step behind her, and reach over her, stealing a touch of her waist or hip. His hands twitched, and he rolled his head, angry at himself for considering it even. She had started to plate. She reached for the oven, taking out the pieces of toast, not carefully enough. The piece she was holding fell to the floor with a dull sound. She hissed in pain, retracting her hand from the oven.

"Peter?" he heard her call. Finding her buried in his chest. "Peter are you okay?" he blinked, and blinked again. He released her suddenly and stepped back. She eyed him with an expression he couldn't place. Had he pulled her away? He stared down at his hands, and back up at her. "Y-yeah." he muttered. "what about you, you burned yourself." he said, pressing his palm against his forehead, forcing his brain to calm down. She was clutching her arm, but quickly released it. "It's fine.." she breathed.

The two stood there a moment too long for it to not be uncomfortable. "so, breakfast?" she asked, a tiny smile on her lips, her cheeks 4 different shades of red.


	4. A secret and a familiar face

**GreyRobin : Hi! I'm glad you like the story, I'll try and update as often as I can ^^**

**Nashira Kozoroth : Thanks very much for sticking with me, hope you like the new chapter :)**

**Daenerys86 : I'm really glad you liked it, I'd like to add your physical features as well if you don't mind, though I don't know what you look like. **

I hope you guys enjoy the new chapter! please let me know what you think! I do hope I managed to write Gwen well.

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Her apartment seemed twice as empty after Peter had bolted. He had stared at her the entire time they were having breakfast. She had been spewing random things at him, none of which provoked a response. He was just... staring at her. Which wasn't necessarily bad, seeing as he was quite handsome with eyes so deep brown she wanted to pluck them out and wear them as a necklace, but she worried. There was something in his eyes, something wrong, something painful. He had eaten small bites, though she knew her cooking could not have been the problem. He had played more with his food, than actually eating it.

She was used to the quiet, especially since she lived on her own, but it was unnerving nonetheless. Had she said something to offend him? Was it something he was dealing with himself,.. or had he seen something? She pulled at her hair irritated. "Shit!"

She clutched the book on genetics, Peter had left lingering on the table. There was no way he had noticed right? She rubbed her arm furiously, the mark where the burn had been still tingling. She bit her lip and settled on the table, eyeing the dishes.

He had just gotten up, put his plate in the sink, food still sticking to the centre, and ran the tap. Then he twitched most violently, like he'd been smacked with a ruler or something. He had turned towards her with a look that could break your heart in two, and was out the door a moment later, without a single word.

She dropped the book on the floor, not at all intending to pick it up later, and slumped on the couch, draping herself like a rag doll, sighing heavily. The smell of breakfast still stuck in her living room. She should open a window, or something, but she couldn't bring herself to get up. Without her realising it, her thoughts wondered on him a little longer, on his eyes, his what-even hair, his killer eyebrows and most of all his awkward little smile. Only to snap up a moment later. What was she doing?

Her mouth was dry, and she was in desperate need of a drink. An actual drink, something to smooth down the edge forming in her spine, and preferably not sending her to regurgitate her breakfast all over the floor. She bit at the inside of her cheek, willing herself to get up to the fridge and get herself a desperado. Fitting, that was just how she felt, if she was Spanish, and had a thick carpet like moustache.

She rummaged in the couch till she stumbled over something hard, the flipped it upwards, catching it with the other hand. She paused for a moment, acknowledging how neat that must have looked and started to dial, holding her breath. When the line was picked up by a elongated moan, she blurted. "Susan, you got a minute?"

Peter had taken to the streets. When he was near her, he felt at ease, like his head was resting on a cloud, and every word she offered him a soothing lullaby, laying his troubles to rest. But when he had taken her in his arms, something in him had snapped. At the slightest noise, he had pulled her into him. Holding her had felt like a balm, a balm he did not deserve. Why had he gone with her ? Why had he entered her apartment? He knew very well how this was going to end. She was just like Gwen.

At the table, all he could see was her, Gwen, staring back at him, her mouth ajar. Her eyes piercing through his skull, penetrating his brain. Her father's voice pounding through his ears. "You leave Gwen out of it"

He took to the nearest ally, and punched a moulding garbage bin for with all his might, letting out a mighty scream. He huffed, as his eyes began to tear. "Crying always crying..." he muttered to himself. He snorted, whipping back his head, only to catch a glimpse of a man in an obscenely ugly parka behind him, planning to put a knife in his back. Startled, he swished his knife, not longer than an adult finger. "Gimmeyoumoney!" he stated, far too quickly to be intimidating.

"Really? At least articulate!" Peter whipped his hand round, catching the knife at it's blade, gripping it until thick blood ran down in a drizzle. "You people will always stay the same." He barked. "You whip your little weapon around, thinking that makes you stronger than everyone else!" Pulling the man towards him, a primal urge stirring to rip out this man's vocal cords so that he may never threaten anyone again. "please.." he muttered, now reduced a child. "Quick to take a life and quick to beg for your own!" He called louder. He smacked him with a flat hand around the head. "You think that life will save you...?" he breathed darkly. The man now squirming in his grip, panicking. He could practically smell the sweat on him. "Please!" he begged.

Before his instincts could take hold, a gentle hand grabbed his shoulder. "Peter..." She said softly scolding. Instantly his body responded, reaching behind him, knowing exactly who he would find there. His hands touched nothing but air, the bloodied knife clattered on the ground. A desperate whelp escaped him, twisting his neck to look at her. He breathed in hicks, trying to catch her scent, only to smell rain, tar and gasoline. A whimper escaped him as two arms snaked around him, a lock of her blonde hair over his shoulder. "What _are_ you doing, Peter" His hands trembled, whimpering her name.

His grip tightened on the lowlife before him, now tightly closing his throat. "Peter..." She whispered. "Stop." he loosened his hand, letting the man fall to the ground.

"Who are you talking to" the man managed to utter. "Y-you're crazy man!"

Gwen was standing in full view now, he almost cried at the mere sight of her. Her brow was cocked, her lower lip bitten, a expression that clearly spelled that she was not amused. She was just as he remembered her, a turtle neck, a pencil skirt and a loose coat. "You're losing it bug-boy." she said mockingly, her hands placed at her hips, her head giving a jerk towards the sweat stain whimpering on the ground.

He knew he should feel some sort of shame, but he couldn't stop himself from smiling. "I just miss you." He hicked. She chuckled "Yeah well, that's no reason to lose your marbles. Look at your hand! And I mean what was that with that girl earlier? You were one rude pickle." Peter looked at her sheepishly. "sorry, sorry, sorry...I know..- you saw that?"

Gwen raised her brow even more. "Really? Of course I did. I'm only a figment of your imagination. You know where the real me is." His eyes were downcast almost immediately. "Yeah, I know."

She pointed towards the crook now, who had attempted to scramble away into the shadow, giving a clear sign. "Apologise to her okay?" She muttered, to which Peter only nodded.

His eye caught a police car pulling up on the adjoining street. He breathed silently, his brow no longer covering his eyes. "Lets take a walk." he muttered, grabbing the whimper by the collar.

Having secured the purp with a delightfully tight seatbelt knot in the back of the car, he whipped around planning to show Gwen how well he had done. He was just in time to see her fade, a chuckle echoing through the alley.


	5. Always invite your stalker inside

**Sussie : Hello! I'm glad you like the story, and don't mind if I do refer to you as Susie :)**

**Amira Muhjah Darkglass : I don't actually know if they do have the HP books in his universe, I can only hope they do, else they're missing out!**

**Nashira Kozoroh : ( =①ω①=)/**

**Daenerys68 : Thanks very much for the description. I'll be sure to make use of it :)**

Please enjoy the new chapter! let me know how you like/dislike it :]

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A weird feeling hung in the air. The temperature was awkwardly warm, it was humid with thunderclouds hanging over, but no signs of an actual storm. Peter's back had started to ache, hanging in a most uncomfortable position, peering through the window of a certain girl. His suit was sticking to his skin in a way that would make him shiver, if that wouldn't result in him plummeting down.

Maybe it wasn't the temperature or the weather at all, he had to admit, he felt rather uncomfortable looking in through a window. He just wanted to see if she was alright, and most of all, if she was angry at him for acting like a jerk earlier. He wanted to apologise, but how do you apologise for something like that without giving a reason? "Oh hey woops, I'm sorry for ignoring you and bailing on you, but you kinda reminded me of my dead girlfriend, who I, by the way, killed." Peter muttered to himself. Yeah that would go over real smooth.

"You did not kill me." A familiar voice rang. He turned surprised, almost losing his grip brick, and awkwardly thumping against the wall. He found Gwen hovering in mid air. "Gwen!" he hissed, fully aware that he did not have a free hand to shush her with. "You're only telling me what I want to hear." He dismissed. "Well yeah, figment of your imagination. Remember?" she answered, creeping closer, joining him as he stared back into the window. "Ohhhh you are such a stalker."

He shushed her, leaning in closer as she entered her bedroom. She was still wearing the sweater she had worn earlier that day. "oh my god, you even chose her bedroom?!" Gwen hissed, genuine shock on her face, she slapped him on the shoulder.

He let out a noise when she stretched herself, and her arms reached for the bottom of her sweater. He turned abruptly, trying to avert his eyes and she was surely taking it off. "Shit shit shit" He muttered, and even Gwen reached to cover his eyes. Inside the girl had started to hum. She wasn't humming anything specific, at least, not as far as Peter could tell, though he was rather preoccupied with panicking at that time.

The humming was almost luring him, like a siren's call. If he had been a sailor, he would have been long lost, because before he knew it, he had leaned back over. But as he did, he stared strait into her eyes, and more painfully strait into her window. She had opened it, and send him downstairs with a pain between his brows. The girl yelped, and hung out of her window. "Oh god! Are you okay?!"

Peter threw up his hand, shooting a web to the ridge of the roof. Slowly pulling himself up. "I'm okay!" He shouted up. "Oh my god" She repeated, almost chanting, holding out her hand. "Here let me, oh god. I'm so sorry, I was just opening my window to look at the sky and I'm so sorry!" she called, as if she had to justify opening her own window.

She pulled the spandex hero inside, though he lingered in the windowsill. "Hi" he offered, as she pulled at his hand, he could feel her skin through his suit, it tingled. She shot a look at him. "What hi?, you hit your head pretty bad friend, let me have a look." She moved for his mask. "Woah woah, no no." He threw, displaying his skilled jazzhands. Not only was his hair a complete and utter mess, as he was sure he had sweated immensely, she could hardly know that he was who he was, and even worse than that, how would she feel having Peter Parker hang outside her window?! Spider-man is one thing, super hero, saves people, nice reputation. Peter Parker on the other hand, not so smashingly fantastic.

She smoothed her brow, cocking a smile. "Sit down then, I'll fetch you a bag of ice." She said, gesturing at her bed. Within a second she had stepped outside the room and left him there. Was she in the habit of taking random men into her home? Especially men in skin-tight suits lingering outside her window? What was she thinking? He could be some axe-murderer or a rapist! Or a Axe-murdering rapist!

He shifted uncomfortably, at his own agitation. "Calm down there buddy." Gwen whispered, lingering outside the window. Peter was suddenly very aware that he was in fact sitting on her bed. Her bed! This was where she slept. This was where she- oh god.

"Here we are." She said suddenly appearing back in the doorway. She sat down next to him, as normal as ever, and fingered his brow, tracing the bump. If he was a Cyclops, that would've hurt a lot more. She gently held what she was holding against his forehead, supporting the back of his head with her other hand. The texture surprised him "This... is a bag of sweet corn..." he remarked. The girl nodded her head, making a face. "Yeeesss...frozen sweet corn, now, what year is it..?" she asked sweetly. "What year? Why?" he asked, raising a brow she could not see.

"In case you have a concussion." She explained, growing increasingly worried as the conversation progressed. "Now, I wouldn't be able to tell you that anyway." Peter answered. "Why?" The genuine concern in her voice struck him like a spear through the heart. He was glad for the mask, as he was sure his cheeks were colouring. He cleared his throat. "I still write down the wrong year on my tests, every time" he said playfully, earning a chuckle.

"You're a student?" she asked, a sly smile on her lips. "I was." Peter answered, surprised at himself he added something quickly "at one point." hoping that would restore his air of mystery. He earned himself another chuckle. "You sure you're alright?"

The hand that rested on the back of his head, curled his fingers, desperately wanting to have a simple touch like that himself. His eyes shot back to the sheets, light blue and unwrinkled, say for the dents their butts had made. His thoughts wandered, along with his eyes, settling on her bare neck, shoulders and arms... he snapped back to reality, scolding himself. This was most definitely not the time. He heard a faint tutting coming from the window, as he pressed his palm against his corn bag.

Good god man, get a grip! It's not like she's naked!

"So. Spider-man eh?" She asked, releasing the bag into his own hands. "The one and only~" he called, lowering it. "Fighting crime outside my window?" her right brow raised, her lips pursed sultry. "Yes." Peter answered as stern as possible. "Okay" She was beaming a smile. Okay?

"Okay? What if I was lying ?" he burst, waving his arms. "Are you?" she answered, cocking back her head. "Yes!" he called. A silence fell after that, though a short one. "Well at least you're honest about it."

What?

Peter just stared at her, completely stunned by her answer. "Honestly, I don't think you mean me any harm, if you did, you might want to consider dressing in a less conspicuous outfit, and not rely on my good hospitality to let you in." she mimed the window. Her voice turned to a whisper "And from one superhero to another, if you did mean me harm, you wouldn't get very far"

"You're a superhero?" Peter asked with genuine wonder. Only to be answered with a smile. "Hows your head?" She rebutted, to which he simply nodded. "You can have the bed." she beamed. "try to rest that head of yours okay."

"You want me to stay? Here?" Peter called, not sure what to do with the situation. "You are staying here. I'll be back in an hour to wake you, make sure you don't slip into a coma..." she muttered, coming to a stand. "I won't try to take your mask." she added before closing the door behind her, leaving him, in her bed, by himself.

She leaned against the other side of the door. Her body suddenly heavy. "I'm trying to be a hero.." she whispered, to him, at a pitch she was sure he could not hear.


	6. A gentle awakening

** Daenerys68 : I think if I found anyone outside my window, that I would have a freakfest before anything. I'm glad you like the chapter :)**  
**Susie : You're very flattering, thank you. I hope you enjoy the rest of the story :)**  
**Squidgy78 : Thank you very much. I update as soon and as much as I can :) thanks for the patience. **  
**Nashira Kozoroth : (ી(΄◞ิ౪◟ิ‵)ʃ)**  
**Spidergirl : I do apologise for any spelling errors that might occur. I have to admit, I'm not at all careful when writing. I hope you'll stick with me through the story however. **  
**Spider : Thank you very much. I'm glad you like it. **  
**Collectible : I'm so pleased you read my story even though you might have trouble understanding it. If anything needs clarification, please tell me. I don't mind explaining :)**  
**DarkShadow0131: Your wish is my command. Here you go!**

I hope you enjoy the new chapter. Sorry this took a little longer to write!

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She sighed heavily, walking through the dim-lighted room, a cup of hour old tea in her hands. She stretched and moaned taking her seat, where she had made herself quite a home. She had settled on the couch, her legs folded beneath her, a blanket to her waist, and a sketchbook in her hands. Surrounding her were bits of half eaten and unopened packages of food. She scolded herself for not going back to her room and fetching herself a jumper, her chest now only clothed in something that couldn't even be called a top, and so settled for another blanket draped over his shoulder.

She mumbled something incoherent as she shifted the blanket to press against her chest. The cold wasn't too kind on her nipples. She murmured and pulled up her legs, gently laying her book on top of her knees. She stared dreamily at the paper, and her hand moved on her own. Her hand quickly darted over the paper, only pausing for her to admire her own work. It had been long since she had drawn, at least like this. So freely.

She usually just started drawing, and went with whatever the first shapes were, but this time, before she had even realised it, she had drawn the face of a certain boy. Peter was smiling, like she knew he could. She brushed the paper with her thumb, almost sighing to herself, as if he was a lover long lost. "Oh get over yourself." she muttered to herself, pulling a face. "You came here for a reason!" She crowed to herself, turning the page quickly.

But as she stared at the blank page she immediately pictured the first time she saw him. Standing there, with his scruffy attire and beaten expression. She chuckled to herself, he did look so much more whole with curled lips instead.

The sketchbook slowly slid out of her hands and down the blanket as she pulled up her legs further, almost to her chin. She felt uneasy somehow, uneasy with herself. Something was out of kilter, something wasn't right. She scolded herself for being such a mess. Her hand reached into the couch, where she hoped to find her cellphone, but only touching soft waning material. She let out a sigh, only happy the phone wasn't anywhere to be found. She knew that if it had been there that she would have panicky called her sister, as she had done so often before. Susan was always kind to her when she did, soothing her as she wallowed on about whatever it was that was on her mind, but she knew it bothered her when she did.

She traced her hand over the wall behind her, wondering if the red and blue hero had indeed taken to her bed. She had heard of the spider-man and of course seen the reports on T.V. But in real life, he proved a lot less intimidating, and a lot more kind than she would have initially thought. Though she couldn't see his face, and he was no doubt doing something dubious outside her window, she had no problem trusting him. There was a sigh of comfort around him, like you could trust him to catch you before you fall.

She sighed when she couldn't detect any movement in the other room. She had moved here to come see him, well partly at least. He could be part of the solution, or at least point her in the right direction. And now he was slumbering in the next room, it felt surreal to say the least. She had been here for a few weeks, and not seen a sign of him, and just a little over an hour ago, he was hanging outside her window? An hour ago...

Peter awoke to a raspy panicking voice, seeing the girl hover over him with widespread eyes. His head felt heavy, like there was a ball of cotton stuck between his ears, cotton that weighed like... a hundred ton.

His head plummeted down to his pillow again the moment he tried to lift it, forcing a grunt from his throat. He had felt fine, and he couldn't even remember falling asleep, if he was that even. He found it difficult to keep his eyes open. "You have to wake up." She called. "can you tell me what day it is?"

Day? He didn't know. He didn't know how long he had slept, it could be anywhere from an hour to a week. Had he hit his head that hard? He felt her fingers press down on his head, grabbing the side of it in the hairline found there, lifting him gently. Her hands had cupped his ears, offering a soft zinging echo. He tried so speak, and could only muster a mumble. A darkness pulled at him, at the back of his eyes, begging him to close them.

Her hands shifted and now traced the side of his face, gently caressing it as if he were a child, and she was the mother stroking the cheek of her flu stricken child. Her thumb gently stroked his cheekbone as her face was now closer to his. "I need you to listen to me" She whispered. "Open your eyes." she instructed. He pulled at his lids, willing it. "You need to look at my face."

He pried them apart, seeing a pale face hovering over him, wrinkled with worry. "That's good!" She continued. "Now, what colour are my eyes?" She edged, forcing him to concentrate. His eyes followed her, fighting the urge to droop them and continue his dreamless sleep. What colour were her eyes anyway? "Blue...?" he said questioning. "No grey." he changed his mind. The worry in her brow grew heavier.

A smile pulled at Peter's lips. "This is not a fair question, there are lots of colours in your eyes." She said, jokingly. She smiled in relief. She wanted to push him over, for scaring her like that, or at least club him around the ears, but she refrained.

The ball of fuzz was seeping out of his ears slowly, as he stared at her, now with waking eyes. His hand shot up feeling for his mask, suddenly feeling very exposed. He made a sound, surprised to still find it shrouding his face. "I said I wouldn't take it." she offered, pulling an odd face. He bit his lip to keep him from laughing.

"I have to keep you awake for a little while." She offered, shrugging her shoulders. "You hungry?"  
Peter let out a noise. Was she going to feed every single person she encountered? Was she one of those ladies who carried half a pound of sour candy in her purse for the off chance they might encounter a child who had scraped their knee and was in need of some pampering? Without getting an actual answer, she got up from the bed, and pulled at his wrist, edging him to follow her.

"What are you in the mood for?" She asked, prying open her fridge to reveal it being stocked to the brim with food. She shrugged, his eyes searching for any indication of time. The curtains were drawn, and there wasn't a clock in sight. He pondered the egg timer on her microwave for a moment, before realising the microwave itself showed the time. It was one in the morning.

She had rummaged in her fridge for a full minute before deciding on garlic bread. She ripped the baguettes out of the packet and slammed them onto the roster of her oven. Peter eyed her aggression from afar, wondering what was eating her.

The girl nervously crumbled the plastic into a reluctant ball and shoved it into a separate bin. She set the timer, and cleaned up her counter, though there was nothing to be cleaned. She was simply afraid to turn around and see him there. She had come here to find him, why was she so god damn afraid to ask him what she wanted?

She scolded herself, and turned with an unnatural jerk, only to find him near her couch, fingering the blankets. "You slept here?" He asked, feeling the fabric between his thumbs. "There's not a whole lot of room."

"I hadn't slept yet,..." she smiled. "I don't sleep very much..." she muttered. Looking at him from behind, she noted how slender he really was, he was lean yet you could clearly see muscles through his suit. In her mind she drew lines, removing the suit, sketching him in her mind. He would make a beautiful sketching model..

Peter's eye fell on the abandoned sketchbook on the floor, half covered by the thicker blanket. "This yours?" he asked, immediately aware of how silly that sounded, since she lived here, and everything was hers. A screech of panic erupted from the kitchen as she bolted for the book. His cheeks ached, as he shot a tiny bolt of webbing on the floor, capturing her foot. "What's this then?" he said with a smile, now fingering the previous pages back to the front.

"No, please, they are not for- please just put it down." She pleaded, her face as red as can be. The drawings weren't exceptional, but they were nice, and good. She had drawn playful figures, in different poses, some with almost mythological features. They varied immensely, some were simple doodles, some rough sketches with thick lines, other delicate with fine colouring, he smiled until he came upon the last drawing in the bunch.

The likeness was astonishing, it wasn't like the other sketches, it was rough yes, but it was him. Literally him, from curve of his chin, the sharpness of his brow. "Whose this?" He said, genuinely curious. "Just a guy!" she called, pulling at the webbing at her foot. She stretched her body, reaching for the kitchen counter, as she was sure she left a knife there. ''and you've drawn him." he commented with an unfamiliar tone to his voice.

"I didn't mean to, he just...I don't know, I was just thinking of him." she offered, apparently having accepted the situation as she carved at the webbing. Peter felt his face heat up, finding himself so very grateful for the mask. "They're very good." he complimented, laying the sketchbook down on the chest. "You're very rude." she spat.


	7. Questions unanswered

**Spider-fan-11 : And you shall :) Thanks for reading.**

**Gummybears1o1 : Thanks very much, hope you enjoy the next one.**

**Jasmin2333 : Thank you very much for your kind words, and I'm so glad you enjoy it!**

**Squidgy78 : Thanks, and I'm sorry if it was confusing, you'll find out more about her character in the following chapters :)**

**Darkshadows78 : Thanks for your support :)**

**Collectible : Yes actually it was, sometimes I put tiny references to different series/fandoms in my writing. You have a keen eye!**

** : Your waiting is over dear sir/lady! And thank you :)**

Thank you for reading my story. I do hope you all enjoy the next chapter. Thanks very much for all the nice comments! ^^

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"I'm sorry, sorry, sorry." he repeated, throwing up his hands, as she ripped the book from him. "I was just curious." he said, cocking his head like a dog waiting to be forgiven by its master. She simply stared at him, tight lipped, a certain coldness in her eyes. It stabbed into his chest.

Neither of them spoke. The smell of garlic and fresh bread filling her living room. He watched her, unsure of what to say, searching for something to give him an inclination as to how she was feeling, what she was thinking. But there was nothing. His mouth was dry, and his throat aching. Waiting for a reaction from her was, immensely unnerving.

He had fought for his life, saved people for certain death, and now, he found his knees waning because of her storm coloured eyes. It wasn't until she shivered, that their gaze broke. "I'm cold." she stated and took to her bedroom, presumably to fetch something more warm. She left him on his own for but a moment, three to five seconds at best, but his legs moved on their own, he followed her to the door and repeated himself once more. "I'm sorry."

The sincerity in his voice calmed her. She slid on a thick jumper. She knew that he had meant no ill intent. She was simply stuck in a memory, when she saw him handling her work. He couldn't see his face, and she had pictured one of mockery. Without knowing, she felt like a small child again, being teased, her drawings ripped in half.

She turned to look at him, finding him surprisingly human, tensely waiting for her. She smiled and nodded. She watched his figure slum back into comfort. His finger pointed at the window. "I should probably..." She took the hand quickly, visibly startling him. "wait!" she called, slightly more loud than necessary.

"There's bread... and I wanted to ask you about something." she insisted, her eyes glittering with hope. Peter was convinced she could charm a man out of his last penny. Before he could even say anything, she had dragged him towards the kitchen and forced him into a seat, a bit too rough than he had thought she would. She practically jumped to the oven, her left foot majestically lagging behind her, like a lame horse.

She ripped open the oven, paused for a fraction of a second, reaching for a cloth on the counter. She slapped the two breads on a large plate and carried them inside, slamming it onto the table, with a hollow sound. She seated herself next to him, practically breathing in his face. The bread was steaming and inviting. She was staring at him, expectantly, eyes shifting between him and the bread. Submitting, Peter took ripped off a piece, before realising why she was looking at him. If he was to eat it, he'd have to take his mask off.

Her head twitched, cocking to the side, her eyes bulging, locked onto his jaw and presumable lips. He lowered his hand and looked at her. "really?"

She smiled brightly. "What? I'm just curious..." she said, pouting like a two year old. Her hands slammed onto the table as she lifted herself to hang over him. "I need to ask you something." she blurted. Peter's heart was beating faster and faster as she paused, eyeing him. Had she figured out they were the same person? Was his voice similar? Well of course it was similar, but had she recognised it? Was it the way he walked? Should he develop a limp?

Her tongue gently slid past her lips, before she started. She took a deep breath, summoning her courage which she seemed to keep in her toes. "I wanted to ask you about the lizard doctor!"

His breath escaped him in a whiny sigh. "Doctor Connors? Why?" He was already shaking his head. She pulled up her legs, perching herself like a bird on her chair. "You fought him, right? Did you also know him? Do you know what became of him? Where he was imprisoned, and if he's allowed visitors?" She ranted, questions slightly mingled as she pressed on. She stared at him, catching her breath, wide eyed. Peter scraped his throat, pondering her question. Why did she want to know?

"you're coming over as slightly psychotic here." Peter noted, gesturing with his fingers, rotating one around his temple. Her bulging eyes lessened and her lip curled. Her hands rubbed together as she raised them to her mouth. "Sorry, I'm just excited" she muttered. "I've been following her research for a while." gesturing to her chest in the centre of the room, she whispered, as if someone would scold her for saying so. "and he's absolutely brilliant!"

Peter felt himself becoming cold. The last time someone had discussed something of this sort with him, it did not end well. Dr. Connors was a brilliant scientist sure, but when he touched upon genetics, when he got close to figuring it out, he lost his way. And that's gently putting it. His head slumped into his hands as memories flooded back to him.

Harry, Doctor Connors, even Max Dillion, they were all connected to Oscorp, and all of them...

She nudged him, pushing two fingers against his forehead. "Daddy long legs? Are you doing okay?" She muttered, almost remorseful for having asked him about it. "... is it, difficult to talk about?" She guessed, unsure of what holding him back. Peter stayed quiet, unsure of what to say himself.

The girl was tempted to go and grab herself a blanket and drape it over his shoulder, perhaps offer him a nice cup of hot cocoa. He had not said anything for the last ten minutes and it was definitely starting to worry her. His body seemed to have been fixed into a permanent pose, moulded and cast in jelly. Her hand was resting on his arm, her thumb gently rubbing in tiny circles. "He..."

"He was on the verge of discovering something,.. wasn't he?" She tried, cocking her head so he could look at her. There was a certain inferiority about her, her shoulders were raised, her eyes looking up to the corner of her eye, her brow pressing into their space, almost hiding them. He could see her, but could not bring himself to move. His body was covered in cold sweat, welding his suit to him. He knew, that if he opened his mouth, and told her anything that Oscorp would creep into her, and she would be destroyed. He could not be responsible for yet another death, he couldn't bear the thought of attending yet another funeral, crying over yet another body, begging them not to leave him, to stay with him.

His chest was rising and falling at an alarming rate, breathing heavily, his shoulders shaking. His fingers were glued to his temples. His face felt hot, his chest tight. His throat had closed, whiny puffs of air escaping him now and again. His eyes fell to his chest, somehow hoping to find a knife embedded into his chest bone, giving him a reason for the darkness he felt closing around his heart, blurring his vision to a shroud. A viscous pounding, a blurring of voices, others and even his own..

"Leave Gwen out of it." "Don't make promises you can't keep Mr. Parker." "Maybe we're on different paths right now.." "Peter!" "I'm going to throw you out the window now." "Your timing is terrible, it's started already." "what if something happens to you because of me?" "I'm coming with you!" "are those sirens?" "You're Spider-man and I love that, but I love Peter Parker more." "Now you gotta pay the price" "it felt a little rushed..." "It's complicated." "Do I have to lose you too?"  
"He made you promise didn't he?" "What's your name?"  
Her arm snaked around, to one of his temples before rising herself to stand behind him. Her hands were now pressed against his head, her palms on his knuckles. She lowered herself, her lips lingering against the back of his head. They were spread slightly, and soft, and from them the gentlest sound slid. Whether she was humming or simply breathing, Peter couldn't tell.

It was warm and comforting. She was saying his name, softly, in a near whisper. Her fingers were softly massaging his scalp, A translucent mist drew over him, cocooning him in a familiar feeling. He felt like a child again, Stricken and panting, scared to close his eyes again, his aunt sitting by his bed, holding his hand as he recovered from a nightmare. In many ways, he was recovering from one now.

He blinked.

And blinked again.

There was silence in his head.


	8. Thoughts

**Jasmin2333 : Thanks very much, I do hope more people will take to my story, but I'm already very glad you guys like it! **  
**Daenery86 : Well I hope her reasons won't disappoint you :] **  
**DarkShadow0131 : I really hope she doesn't transform herself either, one lizard monster is quite enough! **  
**Squidgy78 : Thanks :) I'll try to. Let me know what you think.**

Here's the next chapter, I hope you all like it! Thank you for the kind words, it's really encouraging to hear/read :)

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The girl sat quietly, staring down at her phone, headphones on full blast. She filled her head with loud thundering music. She forced out the vocals, only hearing the instruments, slam and weep and cry into her ears. Her hand darted over the page, searching for something. Her focus darted over the words, she muttered to herself as she read to herself, a lock of hair stubbornly sticking into her eyes.

She eyed the piles next to her, the ones covered, and the ones unread, each as hench as the other. She knew these books, and knew them well. She had spent her entire school career reading them over and over in hopes to find some answers. It had taken her years to gather this many, some she had bought, some she had borrowed, some she had stolen, and some still had their library tags stuck to their spines. She grunted to herself, frustration stuck in her throat as she once again found nothing she didn't know already. Nothing of relevance whatsoever. She had tracked down every lead, every formula, and every scientist that might offer and explanation, and had ended up with nothing except wasted time and effort.

Her apartment had started to light up, sunlight creeping through her drapes, beckoning her towards a new day. She rubbed her temples, as a song ended, and an even rougher one began. Her heart was steady, her legs shifting beneath her duvet. She was used to the sensation of ignorance by now. But every time she was left empty handed, it stung, and she was sure it was the worst each time.

She thought she had it, having the spider-man seated at her table. Doctor Connors was the only real lead she had left. He turned himself into a Lizard for goodness' sake. He's bound to know a thing or two about cell regeneration. He simply has to!

She fought the urge to call her sister, and only eyed her phone as it lay beside her pillow. It was black, the screen shimmering tauntingly, as if it knew that it wasn't going to light up. It knew that there weren't that many contacts in her list, and it knew that she hardly ever got any messages or calls. There was only her sister, and she wouldn't call at the break of dawn, she had no reason to. She looked at her phone, angry with herself, she needed a stupid little gadget to tell her that she wasn't completely alone.

She pushed the books off her lap and freed herself from her duvet. She turned around and reached for the handle of her window, pushing aside the drapes. It was beautiful outside, colourful, it could even be described as serene. It smelled like rain, though there wasn't a cloud in sight. The city was slowly awakening around her, a strangler or two out on the pavement, having to leave early for a job in a different town. The bakers and paper boys of the world were locking their doors behind them and went on their way.

How envious she felt, seeing them go. They had purpose to their life, and knew exactly what to expect when they got out of bed at the start of the day. What was her purpose? What was her calling? She had held different jobs through out her life, but none of them felt right. She had worked in a restaurant, waiting tables, cooking food, serving drinks. She'd worked in retail and florists, and even in mental and elderly homes. It was rewarding sure, helping people or serving them, but there was nothing there. At least, not for her. It was a way to earn money and keep her way of life, that was all.

She wanted nothing more than to make a difference, and she knew she could. If someone would just let her. She could be the remedy for so many diseases. She was the cure. She was their cure. And it was going to be wasted if she didn't figure something out very soon. This was up to her, no madman in a police box was going to show her the way forward.

Peter had left her apartment in a daze. He had bolted out her window when her back was turned. His chest felt light, his limbs tingling. The way she had touched him, the way she had calmed him was...something else. He felt cradled by a mother, by his mother even. He could remember her, vividly when he closed his eyes. Aunt May had repainted most of his memories, but he could still see her face, hear her voice when he thought on it.

This had been the second time he had left her mid sentence, hanging. There was dependence in her eyes, and he had simply walked out. The mist she had cast on him, had lingered all the way home. It had drawn him back to reality, and back home. His aunt was furious when he stumbled in through the window, barely enough time to change out of his suit. She had shouted with tearing eyes, and he had nodded and held her. He simply cried and wrapped her arms around him, like she always did. Whispering concerns and holding him. She had smelled like cinnamon.

He shifted under his sheets, eyeing the mess that was his room. The sun was rising, colouring the sky in a orange pink glow. "so..." She whispered, sitting by the side of his bed. "What are you going to do now?" Gwen was speaking slowly, squinting her eyes and smiling. He turned to her, somehow more irritated by her presence than blessed. He made a noise at her and turned to his side. "Aren't you going to help her?" She whispered, earning herself another sound.

He muffled her, forcing pillow to his ears, muttering to leave him be. She leaned towards him, taking her place on his bed. Leaning over his side, tilting her face with a pout "you like her, don't you?" At that Peter whipped his head around, sending the pillow flying dramatically, forcing her to slide off him. "What-no!"

She smiled even wider. "You so do!" she said accusingly, prodding him in the stomach. His eyes grew wide, his head shaking sideways with an enormous tempo. "No no no no no. I do not!" he exclaimed, pointing a finger at her. Her expression fell, as she suddenly turned serious. "It's okay you know."

Peter's fingers twitched, wanting to reassure her as her expression showed something he could not place. Was she upset that he had spent time with another girl? Why did she think he liked that girl? She was a figment of his imagination for crying out loud, why did she think anything. Did that mean that he thought he liked her? Was his subconscious trying to trick him? Trying to tell him it would be okay to like someone again? Or was his subconscious telling him that he did have feelings for her? And even if he did! What then?!

He let out a deep sigh, his hand firmly squishing the thoughts out of his head. Having a mind-like projection thingie hanging about was doing serious numbers on his brain. He couldn't tell which thoughts were his and which thoughts were a reaction to her thoughts. … even that very sentence was confusing.

Gwen stared at him lazily, apparently bored by his reaction, or unconvinced at least. "go ahead, beat yourself up some more." She called, angrily. Knocking him against his shoulder. Following up with only silence. She had faded in a blink of an eye, literally. In a single second she had gone, the place on the bed where she had been was empty, the sheets not even wrinkled.

She was definitely all in his head...

He eyed his window as the sky turned blue again, the new day was here and he found himself with no purpose to get up. He had graduated already, and selecting a college was the last thing on his mind. He couldn't even focus his mind for that long. How was he going to help out his aunt? She had money problems enough, and his pictures were hardly selling for as much as he'd have liked. He had to think of something, but his mind remained blank. He had never felt more useless in his life.

He wondered what she felt like, she had told him that she did odd jobs for her landlord, was that all she did? Was it a for filling life? Did she feel as useless as he did, or was she at peace with who she was? She did not seem ill-content with her life, yet she did seem very eager to discuss doctor Connors. She had numerous books on genetics and other varying subjects of meagre and great difficulty.

Peter grew increasingly worried with how little he actually knew her. And even more worried when he found himself wanting to know her better. Wanting to be the one who knew her better than all others, the one who knew every little thing about her. How many freckles she really had, what flavour toothpaste she used, what made her smile, what made her cry, summer or winter, what her favourite time of day was, if she had scars, if she had pets as a child. Who was her first love? How did she hold her pen? Had she worn braces or glasses? What was the song stuck in her mind?

He pictured her, her lips curled, her eyes squinted. She had freckles, and lots of them. Her nose was small, like a button. Her playful brown hair. Her skin pale, and flawed. Dark circles beneath her eyes, course eyebrows above. Those eyes... the colours were uncountable, yet he would gladly try. He sighed to himself, glad that Gwen had vanished for the moment, as he felt his cheeks colour. He was in trouble.


	9. Stalking and a crash

**Gummybears1o1 : I'm glad you liked it, I think Gwen would say something like that, even if she did mind.**  
**LesMisNoob : Thanks very much, for the compliment! I do try to keep things as realistic as possible :) Btw. Awsome name.**  
**Daenerys86 : Well here you are, my lady. Enjoy :)**  
**Squidgy78 : Thank you! I like sketching a scene as best I can.**  
**DontHaveALyfe : I cried so hard at the end of The Amazing Spider-man 2. Thank you for reading my story. I hope I do it justice!**  
**Jasmin2333: You have no clue how excited that makes me! It speeds up my writing quite a bit too! **

New chapter is here, lady and gentle-bugs. Hope you enjoy it! Let me know what you think. 

* * *

He found himself following her, as she went about her day. She had woken up at eight, and fed her pigeons on the roof. There were more of them than he remembered, or he hadn't paid as much attention in the first place. She had hummed a song he had heard before, but couldn't quite remember.

He found her again as she went out, wearing a coat as thick as a brick wall, which was odd, as her legs were only shielded from the cold by a thin see through stocking. She was sitting at in diner, clutching a cup of what seemed to be tea. She seemed to know the owner quite well, as he sat by her, after he had brought her meal and she began eating. She smiled a lot around him, sending an awkward sting through Peter's chest. He noted that she played a lot with her food, forking it, putting it down again and picking something else. It worried him slightly as he had seen this behaviour before. A girl at school would do the same thing, and she was dreadfully thin. But as her plate emptied out, he breathed a sigh of relief.

She had taken a bag with her, a backpack, army green and ragged. As she finished her meal she dug between the zipper and retrieved a pair of skates, and bagged her shoes. She nodded at the owner, and left without paying. Yet it didn't seem to bother him, he just smiled and cleared away her plate and cutlery.

She swayed enormously as she made her way over the pavement. She had put on headphones, and was practically dancing to the rhythm as she dodged people left and right. They greeted her with foul looks and yelps of surprise, that she wasn't able to hear. Now that she was going a lot faster, Peter had difficulty keeping up and not being seen. This particular street did not have a whole lot of signs to swing by, and running over rooftops wasn't as productive as he would've liked. He found himself spending more time on finding a place to web to, than actually webbing there. He was losing her, and losing her fast. He cursed to himself, only seeing a trace of her before she turned a corner. He quickly opened his pack and retrieved his clothes, if he was going to do, what he thought he was going to do, he had to think and act fast.

Now wearing actual people clothes he webbed to the end of the street and turned a corner there. An exclamation of excitement left his throat as he saw her pause at a traffic light. He lowered himself on the opposite building, dramatically slamming onto the pavement a little more painful than he had anticipated.  
He only managed to get himself upright for three whole seconds before being knocked down by her. She had sped across the crossing, and he had popped up before her, allowing her no time to break or dodge him. He had held out his arms to attempt catching her, or stopping her at least, but it was to no avail. He let out a grunt, his arms reaching behind her and locking there, making sure he was the only one being hurt, though one of her legs lay beside him, and he could hear the skin scrape.

He had planned on offering her a witty one-liner, or a cheesy "Fancy meeting you here." When their eyes met, and stopping her in her tracks, have one of those unexpected encounters one would only see in films, or cheesy romance novels.

They lingered for a second, as when he opened his eyes, he looked strait into hers, they were wide like a deer who had been caught in headlights. Her hair had shifted, dramatically veiling her eyes. Her headphones knocked off her ears, resting on his chest. "Peter!" She called, shifting in his arms. They slumped back to the pavement, as she tried to steadily pick herself up, clearly forgetting the wheels beneath her feet, causing her to tumble again, landing in a most ungracious manner.  
She let out a noise, as other pedestrians simply ignored their pair of them, spread out like trampled gum. "I'm sorry" She called, as Peter came to a standing. His hand reached for her, accompanied with a sheepish smile. "Are you okay?"

He pulled her up. Her hands travelled as she tried to steady herself, clawing at his jacket and chest, earning his cheeks a slight splash of pink. She didn't notice, being too preoccupied with stabilising her feet. She paused and breathed, before looking up at him. "Hi." She mumbled, her breath smelled like mint.

His eyes trailed to her knee, he twitch when he saw a hint of red on her knee. Her stockings were ripped, and there was blood on them, but the skin was unbroken. He frowned and looked back up to her face, she too seemed to have notice and there was a hint of panic in her eyes. "Paint." she blurted. "I was working with paint earlier." She continued.

No she hadn't? He was pretty sure she hadn't. He had been watching her since morning? Oh god he felt like such a stalker...

Peter did not seem convinced at all, but knew to leave well enough alone, judging from her eyes, she wasn't going to tell him anything. "Are you okay? You didn't hit your head did you?" He smiled. "No I'm not so stupid as to do that again." he said, a bit more sharp than intended. "You hit your head earlier ?" She muttered, eyeing his hair intensely. He nodded with a smile. "Don't you remember?"

Oh shit.

"Oh no wait that wasn't you, was it? I can't remember. Must've been my neighbour... p...phil." He added, desperately trying to get out of it. She squinted her eyes and let out a laugh. "I'm not quite sure how I feel about the fact that you confuse me with your neighbour Phil, Peter."

He wanted to make a remark that she was much more attractive than his hypothetical neighbour, but the moment had passed, and she was looking at him. They both let out a laugh, feeling the awkwardness of the situation sink in, as a few pedestrians had taken to listening in after their glorious fall. She took his hand, clutching his sleeve as well as his fingers. "You doing anything?" She said. He shook his head violently, like a hyperactive bobble-head. "hope you like running!" she called, before pulling him along.

She was making an effort to go as fast as she could, forcing him to step up his game, and his speed. Though Peter was not having any of it, she had expected she'd have to drag him along for the entire way, but to her surprise he was running beside her, offering her a cheeky smile. They had to dodge let and right, trying to decrease speed as little as possible, all the while their hands were linked. They lifted their chain above the heads of the pedestrians who wouldn't budge and came between them.

"Where are we going?" Peter called, only slightly out of breath, causing her to quicken her strides. "To the hospital!" She called, loudly, causing Peter to stop in his tracks immediately, his arm unintentionally giving her a fierce jerk, and turning her towards him as she came to a stop against his chest. "What the hell?" She cussed, her fingers spread across his chest. He tugged at her arm. "Are you sick?" She didn't reply, and his heart stopped.

It made sense now, her interest in genetics, she was sick, perhaps even dying. She was exactly like Harry! Looking for a cure, looking for a way to adapt herself. That's why she was so interested in doctor Connors! He was doing research into regeneration, and it would cure so many diseases and perhaps even hers.

"Are you dying?!" He almost shouted at her, observing every inch of her for any indication of illness. He had to fight the urge of sniffing her, as if disease would have a scent. She was just looking at him, just looking with no expression whatsoever. As if she was looking for something herself, her brow was knotted, her lip stiff.

"Peter." She finally spoke. "I'm going to the hospital, to donate blood."

"I'm fine." She added, reaching up for his face. "Calm down." Her voice was sharp but warm, like a flute. She smiled and looked down at her hand, a hint of...something in her eyes. She pulled at his hand, at his grip but his hand wouldn't budge. He felt like he was a statue, carved from stone or marble, and she was a child or tourist stupid enough to lock itself in an opening. She winced as she wiggled her hand, he wanted to let go of her, he really did.

No he didn't. He knew he was hurting her, but if he were to let her go, she would die. He was sure of it. Every fibre of his being was screaming at him, to keep a grip on her hand, else she might fall. She would surely fall. And she would die, and he couldn't let that happen. Not again. He just couldn't. A loud thud echoed through his mind and he felt himself freeze.

"Peter." She said softly, having stopped trying to free herself, instead she stepped closer and gently held her face against his shoulder, her other arm against his back, her hand gripping his jacket. She was whispering something, he couldn't quite hear, but as her embrace lasted he felt himself melt. If stone could be melted, he wasn't surprised she was the one to do it.

He blinked and found her pressed against himself, whispering that it was all okay. His eye looked down at where their hands met, he had held her in such an impossible position, her fingers spread and pressed together, her wrist angled painfully. Her hand was red with strain. He slumped and released her, easing her fingers from his grip, but she only reached her hand behind him and tightened her hug, continuing her chanting. Peter simply draped his arms around her, sucking air through his teeth to refrain from having a breakdown, so very glad for her embrace.


	10. Hospital happenings

**Grace-adalyn : I'm so glad that you can connect to my story. I actually thought about it alot, how I was going to portray Peter. I think he's a very strong character and easily written as a hero, but especially after Gwen's death, I feel it would do him a great injustice to only show the hero side of him. I think the way he deals with his grief is what really shows his strength. ( and I'm very glad if I managed to capture any of that)**

**Jasmin233 : Glad you like it, and that you're still with me! :)**

**Jar of Dreams : I haven't mentioned it yet actually :p Peter doesn't know her name! Glad you like the story :D**

**Squidgy78: Oh yeah! Thanks!**

New chapter! Sorry this took a little longer than the others. Hope you like it, let me know what you guys think.

Enjoy.

* * *

Hospitals have that eerie feeling when you enter them, the first thing you notice is the smell of medication. Not the kind you take when you're having a headache either. The kind they keep in bottles and syringes, the kind that freak people out. This hospital was no different. Peter had been there for all of ten minutes, and he already wanted to leave. He looked over to the girl, already seated in her blood donating chair. She didn't seem nervous at all. She was just half sitting half lying there with a bored expression on her face. She was pulling faces at him, though if this was to entertain herself or to ease him up, he didn't know.

He offered her a smile, but he felt it drop just as easily. This place made him nervous, and being this close to seeing needles being jammed into the arm of someone he … someone he...

"Peter?" She called, shifting on the paper cover of her seat. She looked worried for a moment, but seemed to dismiss it. She opened her mouth to say something, but didn't and slumped back down. They hadn't spoken since breaking out of their spontaneous embrace. They had stood there for what seemed like forever, neither of them knowing when or even wanting to let go. He had offered her a nod in acknowledgement and she had answered him with a downwards smile, and that was the end of it. She didn't reach for his hand again, and simply continued her way down the street, expecting him to follow her.  
He was kind of glad that she did, keep 2 meter ahead of him that is, since he was still trying to brush the blush off his cheeks. His panic had long subsided before he broke their embrace, and seeing her face when he pulled away had set his heart alight.

"Heyyy Daniels." She called, greeting a male nurse who came towards her with a chart. "Hey there pumpkin. How are we feeling today?" He answered, a prize winning toothpaste commercial smile engraved on his face. He was bulky, tall, and Peter hated to admit it he was ridiculously handsome. He wondered for a moment if he actually was a nurse, and not just some model who'd walked out of his photo shoot on perfume.

"Yeah, fantastic, and well circulated." She answered with a smile. "how's your day been, Daniels?" she added. Peter revelled in the fact that she had called him by his last name, but quickly swallowed back his relief as the man began to speak again. "A lot better now that you're here, sweety. You're the highlight of my day." Peter bore witness do the worst display of shameless flirting he had ever seen. Sweety? Pumpkin? Just how close were these two?

Peter suddenly realised that he had never even asked her if she was involved with someone, nor had she mentioned it. What if he had just ruined a meet up between the two, and they'd go and have coffee after their rendezvous, or worse, that they'd go and fornicate in a supply closet. He suddenly felt very nervous and out of place, until the girl's scoff drew him out of it.

"Don't start all that again, we both know what'll happen." She replied, sticking out her arm. He smiled innocently, and even bashed is extremely long, and suspected fake, lashes at her. "You'll swoon and fall into my arms and we share a deep and passionate kiss, in front of your friend here?" he said, nudging towards Peter. His head instantly whipped towards the girl, anxious to hear her reply. "No, I whack you upside the head and you need to go lie down for an hour or two." She said, offering a smile. He chuckled nodded a yes and turned to his chart. The girl sneaked a peek at Peter, who was still gaping at her like a child, and offered him a wink.

Peter snapped back, choosing to admire the window instead of her, hoping the embarrassment would fade from his cheeks. What was he doing?

The nurse referred to as Daniels had taken a seat on a stool next to her, and pressed against her arm, tapping it. The girl did not seem at all bothered and simply started to hum. Within a few seconds the needle had been stuck into her veins, and a tube had been connected. The blood seeped through it easily and gently dripped into the bag. "I'll be back in a few." He said, offering a nod at Peter, as a signal of sorts.

Peter felt his gut churn, last thing he needed was some hotshot offering him ...anything for that matter. He turned to the girl who had made herself comfortable on the hospital contraption. She eyed him lazily and smiled. "You're not squeamish are you?" she asked, nodding towards the bag which was slowly colouring red. He shook his head "are you?"

She smiled, gazing at the dripping of her blood, it was almost hypnotising. "No. I think girl's see more blood than boys do." she rebutted, her eyes still fixed on the driblets of red. "Fascinating isn't it?" she said, gesturing at the needle in her arm. "This could used to save someone's life." she added. "Simple red goop, could mean the difference between someone making it, and someone dying on the operating table. They usually take about a pint of blood. It's what the human body can miss without being in danger. Well, that's not entirely true, it can miss a bit more, but they don't want to risk it. Really, I've asked." She blabbered, a somehow pained expression stuck on her face. Peter simply listened and nodded, occasionally letting out a noise so that she knew he was still listening.

"I want to save people, Peter." She said suddenly. "I may not have super strength or agility or even extraordinary wit, I am no spider-man, but I'm going to save people. Any way I can."

She snapped suddenly, letting out a cough and a smile, mouthing a sorry, presumably for talking so long. Peter smiled, genuinely. He couldn't help it, watching her talk about these things, it brought a brightness to her face and he could feel it. There was happiness simply emanating from her and it was uplifting.

"And you're going to!" A familiar voice called. The male nurse had reappeared and was carrying the same sickening smile. "You're one of my best customers, pumpkin." He added, while judging the bag of blood. The girl pulled a face and shrugged. Peter grunted to himself, not willing to admit to himself that the man's presence was getting to him. He had taken out the needle and took the bag in both hands. Instantly the girl covered her vein with her hand, as if it had hurt. She took a bandage from the tin box on the trolley and stuck it to her arm, seemingly used to the situation. The nurse leaned over and checked her eyes. "Feeling faint ?" She shook her head. "Dizzy?" She shook her head again. She was clearly fine, why was he still hanging in her face?

"It's been good seeing you again, sweets." He said, while planting a kiss on her cheek, causing Peter to ball his hands into fists. She shot him an angry look, and Peter a kinder one. She popped of the bed and took Peter by the hand, causing him to relax again.

He smiled at her, nodding. "So what's next on the list?" he asked, as she slid her arm into his. She pulled a face but just as she was about to answer, a few nurses brushed past them, including the knight in tinfoil. The girl stopped him, grabbing him by the arm. "What's going on?"

The look he carried could only be described as dire, like a prisoner on his way to the gallows. At that same time the pair was struck by a thundering and sharp alarm. "There's a fire in the IC!" he called, before turning away again. Peter's heart dropped, and his body went into overdrive, booting up to find his way to the scene in record time. To his surprise however, the girl had released his arm and had already taken to the hallway in front of them. She was heading into the hospital, not out. She didn't even turn to look at back at him, to make sure he was either following her, or making sure he was safe.

Her feet pounded onto the white concrete, guided by the arrows and signs, only to be met with a thundering herd of staff and patients, being escorted out of the building. Shouting and panic filled the hallways. She frowned as she crashed open a door on her right, taking a flight of stairs, and another, and yet another, and rammed into the hallway she needed, the door heavy against her shoulder.

Nurses and doctors were guiding and carrying patients out. Rolling their beds through the doors and away from the smoke. Sleeves were clutched to mouths and coughs rang through the calling of orders. It was only then that she realised, that the IC, was separated by a big glass door, only to be opened when the button was pressed, until you had been sterilised. There was no way to overwrite the mechanism, how did it even function in the case of fire?

She now stood in front of the glass door, fire raging inside, though it was veiled by dark smoke. Had an oxygen tank exploded? Was it an accident? And what if it wasn't? There were still people inside, and she had to do something. Most of the people in there had good reason to be and weren't about to walk out by themselves, and had already have enough breathing problems on their own. She had to do something now, and so. She took a chair from the waiting room, and smacked it against the glass as hard as she could, causing some serious damage, but not breaking it completely. And so she hit it again, and again and thrice more before it shattered. She stepped into the glass, still wielding her unusual weapon, and took to the other door, and restarted her process.

Her muscles ached, as she bashed her way through, sweat bubbling at her forehead. It was only when she broke through that she was hit with the intense heat coming from inside. Instantly her lung filled as she breathed, causing her to cough violently as she pressed the edges off the glass to the ground, clearing the way for the beds. "Thanks for clearing the way." A familiar voice rang as a vision or red and blue shot past her into the smoke.


	11. Smoke and adrenaline

**Jasmin2333 : I feel honored that you read my story then, especially if you are picky on your reading. :) Hope your donating went well.**  
**Avalongirl55 : I'm glad you liked it! :) **  
**Gummybears1o1 : I can't say that now can I :p guess you'll have to read for yourself in the coming chapters.**  
**The girl with no life : I'm glad that you like it! and I haven't actually revealed her name yet, don't worry, you haven't missed it :)**

Hey guys, hope you like the new chapter. I take a longer to write these now, I do apologise in advance. Let me know how you (dis)like it.

* * *

She was stunned for a moment, as she saw slivers of white shoot through the smoke, and a familiar voice gently calming people. Her feet dragged, adrenaline and fear combined as he stepped through the glass shards and found her way to one of the beds. The bed of a young woman, unconscious but breathing according to the machines. She eyed them desperately, trying to collect herself, to remember what she could and could not unplug. The bigger machines, seemed to monitor her only, and she knew the IV was essential. What if they had set up a drip and the machines were administering the drugs, and she could only have that much or that little of it? Would she go into shock? Would she die without them? And how long would she spend on saving this woman, how many others were in there with her? How many could she save? What if her indecisiveness would get more people killed?!

She reached for the IV bags, and lifted them as slowly and gently as she could would her shaking fingers. She removed the patches and cords and thanked her maker that the woman had not been intubated. The heat of the room was clawing at her face as she pulled at the bed, and it wouldn't give way. Break, there should be a break on the bed somewhere, on the wheels. Left no, right yes, locked. The metal clip was hot, not too hot to touch, but considerable enough to pull back her hand initially. She took off the break and instantly the bed seemed to roll free. It was surprisingly light, and the brunette had absolutely no problem moving the patient towards the doors.

Having moved her outside into the hallway, she rolled her against the doors leading to the stairs. Once they had moved the patients to safety, they'd have to contain the fire. The elevators were out and they wouldn't be able to move these beds down the stairs. She shoved a chair in-between the door to the stairs and checked the woman's pulse and breathing, which seemed reasonably steady for as far as she could tell.

Just then the hero in spandex, appeared quickly before disappearing again into the smoke. He had left two more beds near the glass doors, one which was to her fright, intubated and disconnected. "Wait!" she called. Only to be left without reply. "I need a portable breathalyser!"She had to think fast, and ran to find one, they had to keep one in one of the trolleys or cupboards or something! "I need a breathalyser!" She called again, from the top of her voice, filling herself with smoke a sliver of a second later, as she rummage through the mess. "here!" a voice called, followed by a flying object which miraculously she caught after it bounced against her chest. It was exactly what she needed.

She attached it as quickly as she could and dragged the beds into the hallway. There was really no way to tell if it had taken too long for the man, to be without oxygen for so long, and in a room filled with smoke... the... smoke was coming in. She'd broken the door. She...shit!

One of the patients was awake and grabbed her arm weakly. She turned towards him shocked and relieved. She had been squeezing the bag for at least two minutes now, and she had not seem a reappearance of spider-man or any other patients. "Sir, I need you to squeeze this bag, every two seconds." She called, as calm as she could muster. "Sir do you understand me, every two seconds, you squeeze this bag." She repeated until the man nodded lazily and reached out for it. "We'll get you out of here." she said, helping him out of bed and onto the floor with his Iv bags. "stay as low as you can. I'll be right back."

The man looked up at her, fearful, tears stuck in the folds of his eyes, but he still nodded as she turned, covered her mouth and ran back inside. Her body contorted in fear as she heard a heart shredding scream erupt from the inside. Someone was burning. She ran as fast as she could, but as she reached the flames, he had already stopped moving. The smell of burning flesh singed her nostrils. It's hands were clawing at her legs, gnawing at her. The sight reduced her to tears and she let out a cry that was swallowed by the smoke.

She turned, to see a woman already dead, her machines showed nothing as the fire crept towards her. The girl aught to have taken her body out of there. Nobody deserved to be claimed by fire alive or dead, on another's terms. But there was no time. Her feet carried her deeper into the fire a she could the soles of her boots stick to the concrete floor.

How did one stop fire? In a kitchen you close the lid on the pot, cut off its fuel. There was too much fuel, there was no way to close the lid. Oxygen. How many oxygen tanks were there in an IC? Peter. Had peter gotten out? He should be well clear from the building by now right? "We have to get the tanks out of here! Or they'll explode!" she called into the smoke. She turned back to look at the bed of the woman already dead. No tank.

"already on it" a breathless voice rang as she felt herself being yanked away by string. She found herself at the glass door, with several canisters, and a slightly singed hero. The man was still breathing for the other, and the woman at the door seemed perfectly unharmed. "are there still people in there?!" She called, coughing violently. He shook his head "none alive.."

They stood in silence for a moment as men in fireproof suits burst through the doors, fire- extinguishers in hand, strained expressions on their face. The room was quickly overtaken, and paramedics were taking care of the patients in the hallway. The room temperature wasn't dropping but the danger had gone. Spider-man coughed violently, and instantly she took him by the hand, and dragged him out of the room, not even looking back at the scene behind her. He didn't protest.

She had dragged him up the stairs, his legs were complaining with each step, but he kept with her pace anyway. His lungs were straining with every breath he took, wheezing and coughing. The girl had been in there for just as long, yet she seemed unaffected. Had it her covered mouth made that much difference? Had she regulated her breathing to minimize the amount of smoke she inhaled? She was running like she there hadn't been any effect on her body, taking the stairs as if she was just doing a random exercise. Was she an athlete perhaps? He could only see her back, and found himself wondering what kind of face she was making.

* * *

His heart was still pounding with the action it had gone through a moment before. And even now, climbing these stairs was doing him in. they had gone up 5 flights of stairs, he hadn't even realised the hospital had this many floors. Finally, she took him through a hallway which had been emptied out and through another door. It lead to a roof. "Show my your wounds!" she called suddenly, after Yanking him through the door. "Show them to me!" she cried sharply, tugging at him. "calm down. I'm fine." Peter breathed, hunching over, supporting himself, leaning on his knees. He nodded at her, trying to convince her of the fact that he needed no attention, but she wasn't having any of it.

She had taken his arm into her hands, and pulled at his suit. He was going to need a serious patch job. Aunt may was going to wonder where all her thread had gone. Her hands were surprisingly warm to his wounds, so they didn't sting at her touch. Her face was contorted into an angry scowl, her lower lip firmly pressed against her upper. Her hands traced over his entire body, prodding and soothing as she went. It was ticklish and brought goosebumps to his skin, but he couldn't utter a word or move. He could only watch her upset face as she touched him, fascinated.

Moments ago he had been saving people from a terrible fire. He hadn't been fighting crime as much as he had before... before Gwen. He was out of practise, and it got to him. Seeing people hurt and being in dangerous situations was a part of his life, but somehow it stung him more than it had before. Could one ever really get used to something like that? He had seen burned people, dead people, she was an ointment to his eyes. And she was flustering, over him. "Talk to me you stupid oaf!" she suddenly called, tugging at his chin. "Where does it hurt?"

He couldn't help but smile beneath his mask. "It doesn't hurt. I'll be fine." he offered, shrugging his best nonchalant shrug he could. Her face snapped, her jaw opening so wide in a scream that he feared she might dislocate it completely. "don't lie!" she threw, waving about her arms. "I can tell when people are lying. I'm a master at it myself." she said, slightly more calm but still masterfully sharp. Her eyes showed a certain sting of sadness, and realism. She meant what she said. She was a liar?

He shouldn't say anything, he could hardly remember every lie he had told, let alone keep them apart. He didn't know whom he told what, and to which extend. Who was he to judge her? "I'm fine." he said, trying to calm her rage. "Go to my apartment,fill the bath with lukewarm water. Rest your limbs and soak those wounds. I'll pick up a balm and meet you there." she ordered. Her face a vision of stone.


End file.
